


Salaam

by Suchsmallhands



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Longing, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot, Sensory disorder, Voodoo, Witch Harry, Witch Louis, Witchcraft, all witches are a bit like that at their worst though, witch boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchsmallhands/pseuds/Suchsmallhands
Summary: Louis the witch uses magic to put himself to sleep after a particularly long day.Based on a prompt I saw on tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I got this from here on tumblr: http://just-shower-thoughts.tumblr.com/post/156248305924/i-wish-i-had-a-voodoo-doll-of-myself-so-i-could
> 
> Visit my tumblr @thisshipsailsitselff :) Feel free to comment. xx

Louis breathed deeply, feeling his lungs stretch the bones of his sternum and ribs. He exhaled, deflating. The afternoon sun burned on his skin, the rays blinding him so often. He blinked slowly, lethargic as he arranged his materials on the floor of his bedroom. The wide windows were unfortunate, so open and numerous that the sun reigned in his room and left rose white blind spots in his vision.  
He picked the doll up and set it in the bloody circle, his hand still stung where the blood clotted and healed. His brow creased at the unfortunate circumstance of magic, sometimes witch craft was messy and over stimulating.  
He drew his fingers through weaker areas of the markings, wiping the pink smears off of the tips of his fingers, getting clean.  
The bite of lemon shot sour through his mouth and throat, making him shake his head.  
_Cotton skin…_  
He scratched the inside of his wrist.  
He closed his aching eyes, watery around the bright blue irises, dark underneath. He mustered up a bleary voice, reciting the incantation and opened his eyes. They flashed for a moment, something white and wiry ringing through them in a flash.  
Even his magic made his skin crawl when he was tired like this.  
He felt hardly able to see, blindly reaching for the roll of cotton bandages and wrapping it around his hand. He settled for being partially blinded by the sunlight for the time being, staring blankly forward as he wrapped his hand. He preferred to be clean and sorted, now was an unfortunate moment of strung apart ends and washed out veins, he would still try. He was not a witch without dignity.  
He tucked the end of the bandage neatly against his palm, feeling a bit better.  
He blinked and focused energy to his eyes, discerning shapes and lines from the rosy white, blotting blank blue, vision. He picked up his doll, standing and deciding to clean the work up later. If anyone came in they would certainly dare not tamper with it, or he hoped not. He was too unwound as of now, to tie up every loose end. There were too many loose ends, for that matter.  
Louis sighed deeply, bracing a hand against the wood flooring and pushing his legs underneath him. He appalled at his own weakness, forcing even now in his state, with stubborn will, stability into his muscles. He wished that he could get his hands on some curtains, something that would give him control over the level of light that came through. Of course he desired the sun, at the right time.  
This evening his own senses stretched far and wide, slick with muddy water and cyanide, his nose smattered with sulfur. He jerked at the touch of the small wooden table near his bed when it brushed against the back of his hand. He crawled into the bed, laying on his front, his head resting down against the perfectly thin pillow.  
His body sunk like a puppet released of it’s strings.  
He situated comfortably and looked at the faceless, colorless doll fitted rightly in his palm. He closed his eyes again.  
It had been eight days since he’d slept. Nothing to be astonished by, simply he’d performed heavy magic in the week.  
He gathered some of the magic in his hand, through the doll, slowly rubbing an aching thumb over its back. His thumb was roughly the size of its whole back, so he exhaled heavily as the feeling of the steady pressure rubbed along his own spine. In the corner of his mind he could feel his own fingers wrapped around his ribs, his chest cradled by a palm. But it was too vague, only the rubbing on his back continued.  
If he tried not to think, he could be released from his over wrought senses.  
As his blearing, numb mind drifted closer to sleep, the rubbing on his back able to work out the tense magic and over stimulation in him, he was gripped roughly back to consciousness.  
His sternum seared with a burn which was nearly painful but not quite.  
He held his breath and opened his unassuming eyes again.  
The burning festered proudly into pain, rising along the branded insignias in the bone of his chest. The pain in markings on the bone didn’t bother him, and holding his breath didn’t either, though his lungs began to notify him blandly of deprivation.  
Harry set the link alive, calling to him stubbornly. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened again, seeing hardly anything. He wanted to unwelcome Harry’s call to him. But before he could help it, little tears blinked into his vision. He waited for the terrible ache to stop inciting the longing in his chest, behind the signatures on his breast bone.  
Harry’s calling simmered away, falling quiet.  
He exhaled his held breath, letting it flow out and pressing his thumb down warmly on the dolls back. He pet himself to sleep, wondering where Harry was.  
Images of Harry’s hand pressed over the chest, breathing heavily as the call rang out, blue veins along the bones, flittered through his mind. Old, old magic linked between them.  
The unrest was able to fall away and he hoped for better tomorrows.


End file.
